Mistakes
by Delicious Mud Pie
Summary: Another one of my angsty Brock fics. You should read Rejections first, but I suppose it isn't necessary. Summary: Was Brock's leaving with Ash and Misty such a good idea afterall? I dunno, but this story WASN'T a good idea!


In this story Brock is older than he was in Rejection. In that story he was sixteen, so he'd been taking care of his family alone until he was fifteen, which is when I'll say he left with Ash. So, if he's about seventeen in this story, that would make his youngest sister around 7. Um, this will make a lot more sense if you read Rejection first. And--honestly, I want you to read and review Rejection anyway. Though, this story is going to be WAAAY more angsty. I mean, Brock is gonna be trippin'. He might get a date in this, though. You'll just have to see. In any case, this will have a lot of plot holes in it if you don't read Rejection. If you really don't want to read it, then you must understand that Brock's mom left when he was 10 in these stories. She was a *very* young mother, like, a thirteen year old mother, and thus she is a total flake who doesn't know how to be a mother. Okay--most of you have this pansy idea that his mother died and she was all great and all. But that was added at some point in time when it was decided that was too dramatic for a show aimed at kids. Well, the original point of that was so that Brock would be obsessed with women because he craved love, like the love of a mother. I happen to like that idea, it makes Brock seem much more well rounded and not just an obsessive horny maniac. But anyway, read on. I won't tell anything else. Oh yeah, and during the part where Brock is back home and is on the couch, start listening to track one on the Sarah Maclauglin (sp?) CD. Track 9 is good for the part where he's looking out the window on page 11 or so. It's creepy how well it works.  
  
  
_Brock was sitting in the living room, in front of a large piece of cardboard that had once held a television. He smiled gently as the crayon in his hand bumped along its ridges. He thought it added a lot to the lake and the sky in his picture. He gripped the crayon with his fist, and scribbled a bit to fill in the vast lake he had created at the bottom of the paper. His skin tingled with excitement as the scene began to unravel. He put down the blue crayon and picked up the brown, then drew three circles high above the water, each taller than one after it. He used the brown still to scribble some hair onto the first circle, then he used black to draw two dots for the eyes, and then carefully picked up the red to draw a smiling mouth. He used the red again to draw a triangular dress, then the brown again to draw arms crossed over her chest that looked more like ovals as he struggled to control his small, uncoordinated hands, and finally he drew tiny pegs for feet. In the arms he made a pink scribble which he thought very much resembled a baby. He used the brown again to draw a stick for a body, arms and legs under the second and third circles. He used black to draw faces in, and they were smiling as well. They were wobbly because of the ruffled cardboard, but he had to make do. He then picked up the green and drew little lines for blades of grass. He sighed contentedly as he added the finishing touch--a bright, yellow, smiling, shining sun.  
  
Brock laughed and hopped to his feet as his creation was finished, and he hopped around the room madly, waving it in the air. His glee was only momentarily put aside as he heard a wail from the last room down the hall.  
  
Brock put his picture down on the sofa and ran into the room. He flipped on the light and stepped up to the crib where his brother lye. His brother was standing inside of it, screaming his head off.  
  
Brock interjected, the word a little lispy as it flailed from his three-year old mouth. Aren't you excited? You're gonna get a new baby sister today!  
  
Stewie didn't stop crying, and he held his arms out so someone could pick him up.  
  
Brock lifted his brother from the crib. He stumbled backward as he did so, but was careful not to slip off the stool placed there so that he could reach. Brock stepped backward gently with his brother in his arms, then flopped to his butt so he could cuddle. Stewie was getting big, and Brock could barely hold him.   
  
Don't cry, Brock frowned. It's okay, mama will be home soon.  
  
Stewie didn't simmer down, and Brock rocked him back and forth.  
  
Come on, Brock tried to console. Today is a happy day! We'll have a new sister to play with!  
  
Stewie sobbed, pointing to his mouth as if his verbalization didn't get the point across.  
  
Brock nodded. Wait here, I'll get you something.  
  
Brock shuffled out of the room and walked down the hall into the kitchen. He slid around the floor for a second in his socked feet, letting the linoleum carry him away as if he were an ice-skater. He was still in a state of bliss, and could hardly calm down enough to open the fridge.  
  
Brock finally looked to see what there was to eat, and decided on two slices of Kraft cheese and some milk. He had to leave the refrigerator open and put the milk down with both hands first, then he went and got the cheese. He left these on the floor in front of the fridge since he couldn't reach the counter, then shuffled over to a drawer. He opened it and stuck his hand in, feeling around for a bottle since he wasn't high enough to reach it. He grabbed one, then let it roll on the floor until it hit the milk and stopped.  
  
He fumbled around some more until he found a nipple, then he slammed the drawer shut and hobbled over to his linoleum workspace. He stood the bottle upright, then carefully opened the carton of milk. He held it with both hands and shakily began to pour it into the bottle. About two thirds of what he poured actually made it in, and the other third dripped down the sides and splashed on the floor, puddling around the plastic covering of the cheese slices. He grunted in effort as he pulled the carton back up from where he was pouring it. It poured so fast that he couldn't help letting it overflow a little bit, but he promised himself that he would come back and clean it as soon as his brother was finished. He screwed the nipple onto the bottle and picked up his cheese slices and walked back into the room. His mom had told him to watch his little brother while she was gone, and he knew he had to take good care of him. He'd already stopped crying--probably from the promise of food.  
  
Brock returned to the room, running over the carpet like a waddling toddler as he came to parent his sibling. He entered the room, expecting to find Stewie right where he had left him. He stressed a little as he had to search the room. He looked under the crib and in the closet and under his bed and behind the remote controlled car. He shuddered a little, not wanting to turn around to face the corner that was the only place left he could be. But he forced himself to turn.  
  
he shouted, tears coming to his eyes as he saw his brother face down in the corner.   
  
He ran over to where his brother lye and sat him up. His head lolled in Brock's arms, coming back to reside breathlessly on his chest.  
  
Oh no! Brock shouted. I told you not to get into my marble collection, Stewie! I told you not to, don't you remember?  
  
Stewie's face was becoming bluish as Brock held him. Brock stood up with Stewie dangling in front of him in his arms and he began to shake him violently.  
  
Spit it out, Stewie! he shouted, spit it out!  
  
He continued to shake his brother when the bedroom door opened.  
  
Brock stammered,   
  
His father didn't respond. He surveyed the situation and ran over to the young boys. He took Stewie into a position much like Brock had him in, and wordlessly began to press firmly on his stomach.  
  
Brock stood agape, sweating as his mother also walked into the room. She had the new baby in her arms, and she put her in the bed carefully before running over to the scene, quickly becoming hysteric.  
  
I told you to watch your brother! she shouted to Brock.  
  
I was, Brock defended, I was getting him food!  
  
The marbles burbled up from where they had been choking Stewie, and he began to breathe again, wailing as loudly as ever.  
  
Brock's mother shouted. I told you to watch your brother, and this is what you do!  
  
I'm sorry, mama! Brock sobbed, it wasa accident!  
  
The baby in the crib began to caterwaul like Brock had never seen before, but it just heightened the cacophony already in play.  
  
she shouted. You made a mess of the house while you weren't paying attention to him! You left trash on the sofa and got milk on the floor!  
  
Be quiet, Brock's father, Flint growled, this is no time to worry about the house being a mess!  
  
Brock cowered on the floor, not saying a word.  
  
You can't talk to me like that! Brock's mother growled, her fourteen year old figure trembling waifishly as Flint towered over her.   
  
I can't talk to you at all, Flint sighed, then grabbed his jacket.   
  
Don't leave, papa! Brock began to wail as well, I'll be better! This wasa accident!  
  
I'm still not a master yet, his father explained. I have to go. It's not because of you.  
  
Brock screamed, and both his siblings screamed to match him.  
  
Flint just quickly turned away.   
  
Brock stopped his fit dead, his ears silent to his brother and sister as his dad's steps plodded against the floor of the hall, as they hadn't done in what seemed like forever. He looked up to his mother, noticing that she had become just as stoic. She said nothing, her eyes vacant as the bottomless depths of despair, her lips slightly parted as to catch the tear which escaped her right eye as it slid down her cheek. Her hair was matted and her clothes were in need of washing, and Brock knew that she'd thought the same thing he did after the baby was born. That, just as he'd promised, his papa would stay with them afterward and take care of them. He gave them about enough money to live on for a month, or for three months of gnawing hunger. She dropped to her knees as the front door slammed, ignoring everything around her.  
  
Brock whispered, putting a soothing hand on her shoulder.  
  
She looked up at him, and the look in her eyes frightened him. She never seemed lost before. Brock couldn't understand what it was to have a mother that was only thirteen years older than him until he was much older, but he had a glimpse at her reality at this moment.  
  
Go clean up the kitchen, she whispered, then as the screaming in the background returned to Brock's ears, her old self seemed to find its way back into her body. And get that trash off the couch.  
  
But mama, Brock blinked, it was a picsher for you--  
  
Can't you do anything I ask? she slammed her hand on the ground. You already almost killed your brother! Go clean up the trash!  
  
Brock cried all the way to the trash can with his picture. Little Camellia didn't look much like the pink mass in his picture, but his mother didn't look much like the smiling face in it either. He didn't notice that he'd left out his father from it until that moment.  
  
It wasa accident, he sniffled, crumbling the picture in his hands. It wasa mistake.  
  
_

Mistakes  


**   
****** Sometimes when the world just seems to crumble at Brock's feet, he thinks of the future he intends on bringing to his family. And sometimes, when he's all but consumed by the loneliness, and all but ready to die, he thinks about how life will be better once he gets a girlfriend to hold him and take all his problems away.  
  
Brock put the phone in its crook slowly, as if it suddenly tripled in mass. He held onto it still as it rested, his head hung low yet his eyes wide open as he pondered. He put a hand to his lips and breathed in slowly, with his hand still on the phone. Everything around him suddenly seemed more sharply defined--the corner of the wall as it broke off into a screen door, and the slivers of balmy sunlight which sifted through the blinds to illuminate the dust which sprinkled itself onto the floor.  
  
Brock's mouth went dry, and his silence caught the attention of the girl who lye stretched out on the couch.  
  
Misty sat up and looked over to Brock, who seemed frozen in time.  
  
What's wrong? she blinked, leaving the couch to delicately walk over to where Brock stood. He didn't reply, he just kept staring.  
  
Misty put a hand on his shoulder. she whispered, who called?  
  
Brock breathed in deeply before responding, I have to get to the hospital. In Pewter City.  
  
Misty put both her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes, trying to decipher his anguish in his crestfallen gaze.  
  
What happened? she whispered.  
  
My youngest sister, he replied, Leora. She's, she's--  
  
Misty hugged Brock consilitorily as he struggled to say the words.  
  
She's dying, he managed.   
  
Misty blinked, how'd it happen?  
  
Brock's expression suddenly turned to some sort of self-deprecating anger. Because no one was watching her while she was at the beach--and she was taken away by the undertow. She's in critical condition from drowning. Stupid, huh?  
  
Misty startled at this statement. It seemed a lewd thing to say in the light of tragedy, but she assumed Brock had some underlying reason for feeling that way.   
  
Misty sighed, pulling away from Brock, I don't think we have any time to lose. I'll go get Ash.  
  
You guys don't have to go, Brock blurted, it's--it's not your problem.  
  
You are one of my best friends, Misty assured, it's never a problem to help you when you need it. Don't even think that.  
  
Thank you, Brock mouthed, then buried his head in his arm as he leaned it against the wall in front of him. Misty left the room to go get Ash.  
  
Brock tried to swallow despite the hindrance of his completely dry mouth, and he trembled turbulently as does one who tries desperately to fight a complete breakdown. He had the sudden urge to scream and cry and laugh and punch a hole through the wall and kick a hole through the wall and shoot himself all at the same time. Instead of acting upon it, however, he just fell to the ground and shook.  
  
Ash and Misty walked back into the room and helped him up as soon as they saw him in his sorry state.   
  
Ash delicately began, but couldn't think of anything he could say that would make Brock feel better. I'm gonna call my mom to give us a ride, was how he finished.  
  
Brock nodded, and stood silently. He let Ash and Misty lead him around for the most part. Numbness seeped throughout his body, and he just couldn't get his legs to work the way he needed them to. He couldn't walk, let alone drive.  
  
They brought him to the couch so that he could sit--not on the floor. Brock immediately put his head in his hands, and began rubbing his temples. He felt like he had the world's strongest hangover, and he wanted his brain to crawl out of his head so that his torment could be over.  
  
Ash called his mom, then went back to sit on the sofa, in a total hush.  
  
It seemed that he'd been sitting in a total stalemate for an eternity when Ash's mom pulled up, and Ash and Misty got up from the sofa and from their silence and went quickly to the door. Brock was a little more reluctant, but pushed the nausea monster which welled up inside him back down so that he could do what he had to.  
  
Nausea had a strange effect on Brock. Everything around him seemed suddenly two shades brighter, and he felt a twinge of insatiable restlessness, like he just wanted to run somewhere, but there was nowhere to run to.   
  
He piled into the car and Misty sat next to him, in the middle seat.   
  
It's going to be all right honey, Ash's mom tried to help. These things happen--you'll pull through.  
  
Brock just looked up at Ash's mom thoughtfully, then buried his hands in his hair once again. He gaged as his nausea began to press harder, and he ran his fingers all the way up through his hair then slapped his knees in frustration. There was something he was craving--he wanted escape. Some sort of feral urge beckoned him to escape hell while it was possible.  
  
But the human side of him knew that he would have to come to terms with what happened to someone he thought more of as a daughter. Misty grabbed his hand as he seemed to fall deeper into his anguish, and a memory over swept him as she did this.  
  
_It's all right, Leora, Brock consoled, holding the tiny girl close to his neck. She pawed at his Ninja Turtles t-shirt as she wailed, and he wasn't a comfort. Brock didn't know what to do--with his mother gone, Leora was inconsolable. Brock could take care of her. That was fact, he'd been doing it since she was born--but the sudden absence of any adult figure in their lives left them shaken and stunned. They didn't have any relatives that they could turn to to speak of, and suddenly all the normal tasks that Brock had to do seemed amplified in his head by a million. He tried to get Stewie to help while he battled at the gym, but Stewie just--wasn't Brock. He was immature and on the schizophrenic side, so Brock oftentimes had to turn to his eldest sister, Camellia, to help while he was away. He hated to leave Leora to go work, but he had to. Camellia couldn't quiet her like he could, but at least she would do the bare necessities.  
_  
_Camellia was terribly introverted, but she had a sense of duty. She seemed to be the only one who wanted to help Brock at all with caring for the family. She was often the one who fed and diapered the baby while he was at the gym, eking out a pitiful amount of money. They were all hungry and anxious, and Brock just wasn't winning gym battles.  
  
He handed her the baby after she calmed down and headed for the gym, which wasn't an incredibly far walk.  
  
He was especially upset that day because he had only six dollars to show for all his training, because people didn't find his gym to be respected, and didn't want to pay for battling, and didn't want a boulderbadge from a ten year old kid. He was even chastised by paltry sums of money on the rare occasion he _did_ win. He was just lucky that no one really pressed him for cash when they won because they felt sorry for him.  
  
He walked home from the gym, barefooted in the pouring rain. As aforementioned, it wasn't a long walk, but even a short journey could become a pilgrimage in the rain. He had outgrown his shoes a few months before, and he was so cold he wanted to collapse. He began running home, wanting to get out of it as soon as possible.  
  
However, upon returning home he wondered if the cold was so harsh after all. The first thing he was welcomed by was the screaming of nine frantic children. The baby had become sick. Desperately sick. Brock's heart sank to the floor.  
  
You have to take her to a hospital, Camellia lowered her eyes.  
  
I know, Brock choked. Wrap her in a blanket. I'll get her there.  
  
Brock groaned as he looked around for something that would help him keep warm while he tried to think of an excuse to tell the doctors for why he had no money and no mother. Camellia handed him the terribly congested child as he looked, but he found nothing.  
  
Brock felt incredibly pressed for time, and didn't even have time to get dry before he had to head out again. The Pewter City hospital was a ways away from his house, but he kept the baby covered well, and though his feet frosted over as they splashed through quickly forming puddles, and though his pants were dampened from the calf down and kept slapping painfully against his flesh, he ran onward.  
  
The blanket was almost soaked as he reached the doorstep of a relatively small hospital. He kicked on the door fiercely as he was unable to open it while holding the baby. He was just so small to be able to take her in one arm, and his arms were already incredibly tired and worn.   
  
A woman opened the door for him. She was dressed in a simple white dress, not a normal nurse's uniform, and she had red hair that hung at the sides of her face in looped pigtails.  
  
What are you doing here? she asked, bending over and touching Brock's cheek concernedly. The cold rain is no place for a child like you.   
  
Brock's teeth chattered as he unveiled Leora's face in the bundle. I-I-I'm not the c-child, he shivered. Take care of her, she's, she's very sick.  
  
The nurse's eyes widened as she unbundled the baby and held it to her chest. Brock was reminded of--himself--as he watched her carefully do a visual examination of the child. Oh dear, she gulped. Where's your mother, young man?  
  
Brock shuffled his feet, trying to think of where his mother was. I don't know. I hope she comes home soon.  
  
Why don't you sit down, the nurse offered, stepping backwards with Leora. I'll have the doctor see the young one here. I'll be right back.  
  
Brock didn't know what went on between the nurse and the doctor, but he later realized that whatever it was, the fact that they treated Leora for a payment of six dollars was a godsend.   
  
the nurse said, coming back. She was holding an article of clothing in her hand, and she put it around Brock's shoulders to keep him warm. It was a green vest that was about six sizes too big for him, and Brock couldn't even utter a thank you before she continued with what she was going to say. The doctor believes she has colic. She shouldn't have been in the rain so sick, you know.  
  
Brock began to cry a little. I'm a bad parent, I know. I just don't have a car.  
  
The nurse's eyes widened as she fully savored this statement.   
  
Brock sniffled, I'm the oldest, so I sort of run things. I'm the gym leader, you know.  
  
The nurse's expression softened as she realized who this boy was. She'd heard about him. The town gossips always talked about the nine kids who lived alone in a small house in Pewter City, with the oldest baby trying to earn money in the gym. She hadn't been in this hospital for long, and it felt awkward meeting the boy. It felt even more awkward knowing that one of the children was an infant--and it wasn't already dead.  
  
the nurse bit her lip, sitting down next to Brock and putting an arm around him, I'm Joy. Who might you be?  
  
I'm Brock, he said softly, feeling very comforted by Joy's arm. He seemed so tiny as he looked down at his fidgeting fingers, worried about a child he was raising. Aren't you a pokemon nurse?  
  
Joy laughed. Most of my relatives are, but I was more interested in nursing people. I dunno, call it a rebellion from following family tradition.  
  
Brock smiled a little, and looked up at Joy. Is Leora going to be all right?  
  
Joy said, removing her arm from around Brock. Because of you, she's going to live. How long have you guys been alone?  
  
About a month, Brock sighed. I'm not very used to being alone yet.  
  
Joy winced in pity and clasped Brock's hand.  
  
He thought he was in love.  
  
_ The car pulled up to the hospital. It was the same hospital Leora had been to when she was a baby, just as Brock remembered it. It was a lot more crowded now as Pewter City expanded. The emergency room was probably never as empty as it was that night anymore. They would probably not see any nurses at all while in there.  
  
Brock felt shaky as he stepped out of the car. The white building seemed to mock him as it tried to take back the life that it had once saved. He'd only seen Leora a few times in the past two years, and he was beginning to feel like a total ass for not having visited more. She was one of the few children left in the house. The others had left at age ten to pursue their dreams as Brock had always wanted them to.   
  
They received their visitor stickers and began walking down the hall to the little girl's assigned room. Everything was just _too white_ for Brock's liking. It reminded him of a clumsy rendition of the light which would lead to heaven in the afterlife, and he didn't want to think of death. He didn't want to be reminded of it, not even by completely obscure things.  
  
We'd better wait out here, Ash's mom said, as the Critical Condition ward only allowed for a minimal amount of visitors in each room.  
  
Brock opened the door, and lost his breath as he saw more of a mass of machinery than his beloved sister. Camellia and his second youngest sister Nina, who was nine, and his second youngest brother Russel, who was eight.  
  
Russel squealed, and ran over to throw his arms around his older brother. Brock had grown to be very tall in the past two years, and finding his brother to only reach the top of his waist just reminded him of how much he'd neglected them.  
  
Brock smiled, and held his brother up in the air and swung him around. You've grown so big!  
  
Russel was awed that his brother was now capable of so easily picking him up, and he smiled broadly. Oh Brock, are you going to come back home to us?  
  
Brock's smile suddenly became extremely feigned, and he put his brother down.  
  
his brother blinked. You're coming home, right?  
  
Brock looked to Camellia, whose face was extremely compassionate toward's Brock's unfair burden. He shoved down the nausea a little more, then looked Russel in the eye.  
  
Of course, Brock stammered, I'll always be there to take care of you when you need me.  
  
Russel cried, and Suzie ran up to hug him too. They had obviously missed him a great deal.   
  
Thank you thank you! Suzie began to cry in happiness. If you come home, accidents like this won't happen anymore. They never happened when you were around!  
  
Brock blinked at his sister, and put his hand on her head. His face suddenly fell, and grew white as the hospital walls themselves. He suddenly dashed over to the bathroom, which was inside of Leora's room, and gave in to his queasiness. He released his pent up guilt, only because the flood of it which ensued would be needing all that space.  
  
Brock returned to the room with a glazed look in his eyes. He walked over to his sister's bedside and grasped her hand.   
  
he whispered, oh, I failed you so badly.  
  
Leora's eyes fluttered open as she heard Brock's voice. He had lowered his head and was sobbing on her hand, and she weakly squeezed his.  
  
Brock looked up at her face. It was mostly covered with a large oxygen mask, but she was conscious. Brock suddenly had an elation of happiness, thinking that she might live after all. If she lived, he knew he could repair the damage he'd caused. He never should have trusted his father to take care of them. Not in a million years. He knew what a flake he'd been before, but he gave in to temptation--into lust. He lusted after what Ash had. A carefree, optimistic existence where he could pursue his dreams without thought. A clean, simple innocence that came from being loved and provided for. He thought that maybe after his mom was gone, that maybe his dad would be able to settle down and care for them. But they were such babies. They needed a nurturer. Someone who would always make sure they were safe. They needed Brock.  
  
Brock stared into his sister's eyes.  
  
I promise you I'll never leave you again, he sobbed. I promise you that I'll never trust anyone besides myself to take care of you.  
  
His sister smiled, but sadly. She shook her head in a very labored manner, then pointed to her waist with her other hand.   
  
Brock looked at what was on her waist, and found her pokeball. She only had one pokemon. Brock had given it to her one time during a visit as gift. It was a Qwilfish, very rare in Kanto. She loved it. Whenever he visited afterward it had just become bigger and bigger, and it had to be a very strong pokemon by now. She wanted to run a gym when she grew up, to be just like her big brother.  
  
Brock looked down at his sister. Your Qwilfish? Why are you giving it to me?  
  
She just smiled, and let go of his hand. Her eyes closed. Her heart monitor went flat. Her brain wave monitor followed suit before the doctors could arrive. She was gone.  
  
His siblings began to cry, and he just stared in silence, his eyes dry, his mouth dry, his mind--dry. The emergency crew rushed in, and she was soon pronounced dead. The family had to shuffle out of the room, and Brock still wasn't crying.  
  
Camellia was holding his younger siblings, but Brock remained stoic. His eyes were still, and he had disappeared into some unknown crevice of his mind. He didn't speak as Misty grabbed his hand gently and Ash patted his shoulder. He was led blindly to the car. He was led blindly into his old home. His old house.  
  
His complete apathy didn't last forever, though. His father walked out to greet his family, and Brock sprang like a snake.  
  
No one had time to think as his hands wrapped around his father's throat.  
  
You let her die, Brock frothed, why weren't you watching her!  
  
Flint merely gagged, unable to speak. It took Ash, Misty, Camellia and both of his young siblings to pry his fingers from his father's throat.  
  
Flint began to gasp for air, and he appeared utterly crushed. It wasn't my fault, Brock, they were all swimming, they didn't notice--  
  
Brock boiled with anger a moment more, then his expression became completely baleful. You're right, he admitted. It wasn't your fault. You're immature. Reckless. I should have known that before I handed them over to you.  
  
Flint stood aghast, and Brock held the pokeball which contained the Qwilfish in his hand, then gave it to Ash. Ash looked at it blankly.  
  
You should have Qwilfish, Brock said. I'm not worthy of anything Leora ever touched.  
  
Ash looked at the ball in silence, sensing that something was wrong. He released the pokemon, but had quickly wished he left it alone. The small blue creature lye on the floor, dead as a doornail. It's stench was strong, as it had been dead from saltwater intake from Leora's accident. It was a freshwater fish.  
  
I should have told her that Qwil couldn't go in saltwater, Brock said blankly.  
  
Brock then collapsed to the ground. It was a hard fall, and his bones and head clattered loudly as they hit the cement. He wasn't unconscious, but he may as well have been for how much he was moving. His eyes were wide open, but he was still. He had to be carried back into the house, and since they didn't think it was a good idea to have his father do it, Ash and his mom each grabbed an end of him and laid him on a sofa.  
  
And that's where he lye until the middle of the morning. Never sleeping, but never stirring. His heart was racing as if he was running the entire time, and, at 3:03 AM, he suddenly bolted upright.  
  
Misty had covered him with a loose blanket as he lye there, and it slipped from his fully-clothed chest as he continued to sit, not stirring for a good deal of time once again.  
  
Action came quickly as soon as he was able to stand. The moonlight shone upon the floor like a naked blue desert, and Brock walked quickly across it as he knew what he needed to assuage his bleeding soul.  
  
Brock walked into the kitchen, and tears came to his eyes as he slid around on the floor a bit, remembering how much he liked to do that as a child. He laughed softly and hauntingly as he approached the sink. He grabbed a glass of water, then reached beside the sink for a wooden box.  
  
He pulled the knife that he had used to cut tomatoes and other messy things with while he lived there. It didn't look like it had been used since, and as the moonlight highlighted its blade with a blue, gloomy streak, he laughed sadly as he realized that it was still just as sharp.  
  
Brock breathed in deeply, then held his breath as he held his wrist out in front of him. He made a slight, quiet noise in pain as he pressed the knife into his flesh, starting outward from the bone and cutting left into the large exposed vein. It made a little cracking noise as the blade sliced clean through the first few layers of skin, and he felt light headed as signals of pain rushed to his brain. Signals which he ignored. The blood ran freely down his arm, dripping onto the floor with soft splatters which sounded heavier than the splatters of water, and they smelled of death. He breathed out as he examined the slit in his arm. Blood couldn't seem to escape fast enough, and he paled as he held out the other wrist. It was trickier, as the pain in his first wrist kept it from doing its job as he'd wished. But, the tip of the knife still found its way beneath his dark skin, the red blade allowing for a flow of crimson to pepper the brown. He was outright wincing as he did so, but knew he had to do it.  
  
Ash shouted, flipping on the light.  
  
Brock turned toward the hallway, the knife still tearing through capillaries as he embedded it into his arm. Ash stared blankly in horror, and Brock stared back with a similar look.  
  
What are you doing!? Ash screamed, and ran over to pull the knife away.  
  
Brock didn't have the power to struggle as Ash threw the knife to the ground and grabbed Brock's wrists, trying to prevent the blood flow.   
  
Why are you doing this? Ash gasped, as Misty, his mother and Camellia entered the room.  
  
It was my fault, Brock muttered. My fault she died. I was irresponsible. I failed my family.  
  
Brock shuddered suddenly, and collapsed to the floor, Ash still pressing tightly onto his wrists.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
Brock woke slowly, a dull throbbing in his wrists being the first thing he came to notice as he entered consciousness.   
  
You're lucky they found you early, a female voice scolded.   
  
Brock whispered. He opened his eyes slowly, and was surprised at what he saw before him. Nurse Joy?  
  
The nurse laughed. She looked just like a Nurse Joy, except her hair was let down and incredibly long. She also had earrings and violet contact lenses, and was a little older than most Joys he's met in the past.  
  
That used to be my name, she sighed, but I was sick of being _a_ Joy. I don't want to be *_a* _anything. I'm my own person, damnit. I had my name changed to Violet, and I'm not some mindless clone, thank you.  
  
Brock pondered, then cringed in embarrassment. No, I never think Joys are mindless. In fact, you're very beautiful, but Brock stopped, realizing he was just shoving his foot farther into his mouth. What did beauty have to do with the mind?  
  
Violet bit her lip. I'm sorry if this is prying too much, but why did you do it?  
  
Brock opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again. He coughed, then brought his hands up to his head. He didn't want to tell this beautiful creature that he was a selfish, family-deserting asshole, just like his father.  
  
You don't want to tell me? she began, that's okay, I can't make you tell me anything you don't want to--  
  
I'll tell you, Brock interrupted. But you'll want to change assignments, because once you know what I really am you'll never want to see me again.  
  
Violet sat at the foot of Brock's bed, imploring him to tell her what was wrong.  
  
Brock closed his eyes, then slowly began to tell of how he'd been taking care of his entire family of eight siblings, alone, since he was ten, and even younger than that considering his mom was usually too depressed to help. He told her about his dad deserting them. He told about how he dreamed that his dad would come and stay with them. More than anything. His dad seemed to make his mom act a little better, and every time he came home to see her, every time he came home and got her pregnant, he promised that he'd be a master by the time it was born, and that he'd have the money to come home and take care of them. He told her about his _own_ dream to leave, but that he wasn't able to. He told her about how his dad came back finally, when he was fifteen, and in his own selfishness, in his greedy desire, in his self-serving longing, he'd trusted his dad, and though he hadn't seen him in roughly five years, he trusted him to go back to his believing that since he was older he just might be ready. Then he told about Leora's accident. Then about Qwilfish. All about Qwilfish. His voice became almost indiscernible as it cracked from overflowing emotion, and he went into a self-bashing rant, never quite getting to the moment of his attempt.  
  
But Violet didn't need to hear it. Oh my God, she choked, putting a hand to her mouth.  
  
I told you you'd hate me, Brock continued crying, but by God I deserve it.  
  
Violet shook her head. It isn't that at all! Tell me--tell me how old you were when you left with your friend.  
  
Brock closed his eyes. And I deserve death for it. I don't understand why they just didn't let me die! They must have known that I deserved it--  
  
Violet said softly, taking Brock's hand. Brock began to flush deeply as she did this. Don't be suicidal. You've been through so much. Things that--things that would have broken me. You've done more than I think anyone would in your situation. You obviously loved your father as a child, even though he left. You trusted him because of this love. Brock, we all make mistakes, and I don't even know if I'd call this a mistake. You were compelled by your dream, and by your love of your father, to leave. But it wasn't a terrible thing, Brock. Everyone needs a little bit of happiness themselves, and it was just bad luck that when you went to find it that tragedy occurred.  
  
Brock didn't know what to say. Y-you're not a nurse, are you?  
  
Violet shook her head. I'm a counselor. Your friends paid for me to come and see you. They love you very much, they don't see you as anything like you see yourself.  
  
But, how? he questioned. If it wasn't for me, Leora would be alive by now.  
  
If it wasn't for you, Violet sighed, no one in your family would be alive right now. I know it's hard to believe, but you have to trust me. You don't _deserve_ death.  
  
Brock closed his eyes again, his head falling back on his pillow. Violet patted his hand, and placed it by his side. She covered him up with the blanket.  
  
After all these years, she sighed, it's hard to swallow that this should happen to you.  
  
The door to the room opened, and a red-haired, teenage head poked in. She had dark red hair which hung at the sides of her head in looped pig-tails. She resembled Joys and her mother in every way, except that she was wearing a Save Ferris t-shirt, baggy jeans and red Nikes.  
  
You done, mom? she put a hand on her hip.  
  
she lowered her eyes.   
  
the girl grinned, that guy's kinda cute. What happened to him?  
  
You don't want to know, Violet assured.   
  
Awww, well hey, she smiled, should I let his friends back in?  
  
By all means, Violet replied.  
  
She and her daughter left the room, and Ash and Misty stood, waiting to see what she had to say.  
  
I think, she began, that with some counseling, he'll be okay. You guys need to watch him carefully. Let him know that he's needed.  
  
Thank you doctor, Ash shook her hand.   
  
Violet closed her eyes. Did you want me to come back and talk to him?  
  
Ash nodded.   
  
All right, Violet nodded as well. I'll be back tomorrow.  
  
As Violet and her doctor walked down the hall, her daughter looked up at her, puzzled.   
  
she raised an eyebrow. Are you okay? You look so depressed.  
  
I'll explain in the car, was all she whispered in return.  
  
Ash and Misty ran into Brock's room as soon as Doctor Violet Edena had been done talking to them.   
  
Misty shouted, then scampered over to stand next to his hospital bed.   
  
Ash came over as well, and shuddered as he eyed the large mesh bandages which covered his wrist. They were purple with blood which had dried on their translucent insides, and Ash's stomach began to churn as he thought of what Brock had done to himself.  
  
Oh Brock, Ash sadly patted his friend's hand. I'm so sorry.  
  
Brock opened his eyes again, and he just stared for a moment. He had heard what Violet said, but he was still surprised that his friends didn't hate him for what he'd done.  
  
Misty looked to Ash, as if she had something to say that she wasn't sure she should. But, she and Ash decided that the hospital was the best place to do so since he wasn't capable of hurting himself again.  
  
Ash looked back to Misty, as if prompting her to tell him. They couldn't decide which of them would be a better pick to break the news, but Ash suddenly decided that it would be too hard for him. He had seen Brock while he was using the silvery knife was opening the gateway to death, and he couldn't see himself doing something that would make Brock want to do that again.  
  
Misty's eyes watered, Russel and Nina were going to be put in foster care.  
  
Brock jumped. I'm coming back for them!  
  
Hold on, Misty soothed. Well, they assessed your father, and they determined that it wasn't his fault Leora died. She was with a friend when it happened, but Camellia didn't tell you that on the phone.  
  
Brock gulped, I practically killed him for nothing.  
  
Misty gulped. He's being supervised right now, to make sure he doesn't commit suicide as well. He's totally blaming himself. Camellia is taking care of the children for now.  
  
Brock gasped, they said that if I came back, those accidents would never happen again, and that it was my fault--  
  
They miss you, Misty sighed. They're blaming this on your father as well. Camellia says that he takes care of them all right, but he's just--he's just not you.  
  
Brock didn't know whether to feel better or worse. He felt worse because he'd wrongfully blamed his father for his sister's death, but better because he didn't leave his family in the hands of negligence. He felt worse because his head had begun to pound and he had no idea what was going to become of his family, but he felt better because all his loved ones didn't hate him now.  
  
Misty grabbed his hand. You're going to be all right. They'll get over this. You'll get over this.  
  
Ash looked at the ground. You're all grieving now. But we'll go to my mother's house so you can recuperate. You're going to be released the day after tomorrow.  
  
Brock startled suddenly, causing Misty to freak and drop his hand.  
  
I have to stay here, Brock's eyes widened. I can't leave--  
  
Doctor Edena thinks it would be better if you left for a while, Ash explained.  
  
Brock's head began to throb even more. It looked like he wouldn't have any choice in the matter. At least not until he got out of the hospital.  
  
After Ash and Misty left for the night, darkness settled upon the island, and Brock looked despondently out the window. The world came to a crawl as he lye motionless in the darkness, expected to go to sleep. All was still outside his window. There was no wind, and the flame of morning was far away from touching the land.  
  
Brock shivered a little, the chill which was the hospital's normal temperature overtook him, and the window's stillness lulled him into uneasy sleep after he pulled the blankets up to his chin. His dreams were vivid and stress induced.  
  
_Brock was in a pokemon center, and it was completely empty. His pulse began to race a little as he heard the door open, and Nurse Joy stepped into the room.  
  
Brock stepped over to Nurse Joy, and she smiled at him. Her hair was down, and it flowed around her shoulders enticingly. She didn't shy away from him, and dawn peeked in through the window as he put his arms around her waist.  
  
I love you, he whispered into her ears. She didn't pull away, she didn't think he was creepy. I love you, he said again, then began to sob into her shoulder.  
  
Nurse Joy pulled his face up, and looked into her eyes. Brock's face drained of color, as her look was hard, but then it became a smile. She gently kissed him, putting both her hands on his cheeks as she did so. Brock's lips didn't feel as if they were on fire, as he'd always imagined they would if he'd actually gotten to kiss someone he loved. Instead, he felt peaceful, like all his layers of pain melted away in that kiss.  
  
I can help you Brock, she said.   
  
_Brock was stunned, but didn't get to indulge himself in the dream any further. He opened his eyes in reality, only to see the true dawn peeking in through the window. A slight breeze was stirred, and he felt refreshed. He wasn't quite sure why he felt refreshed, but he was sure that it couldn't last for long.  
  
His medical doctor had walked in to give him the once over.  
  
You seem to be all right as seen externally, he explained, but we have to hold you for one more day to make sure that you've fully recovered from all the blood you lost.  
  
Brock grumbled, not all too happy that he'd have to be there another day, but sort of relieved that he wouldn't have to face the reality which waited for him outside.   
  
One of the nurses in training will be in here shortly to bring your breakfast, and with that, he left.  
  
Brock laid back, and breathed in slowly as a rush of reality banged against his mental wall of denial and reminded him that _Leora was gone_. He began to mourn for her, crying softly as he put his pillow over his head. Memories of Leora dashed through his head in nonsensical bursts as he just remained in anguish for a good twenty minutes.  
  
But, as the doctor had promised, a nurse in training came into the room with a tray of food.  
  
she shouted, seeing Brock with his pillow over his head. What are you doing?  
  
Brock quickly removed the pillow, and the nurse could see that his face was red and damp, and his hair had become entrenched in the tears as well.  
  
she stammered.  
  
Brock looked at the trainee, and something in his brain was alerted. She was a Nurse Joy as well, but in training to be a people nurse.  
  
What's your name? he asked thoughtfully, wondering if she was another rebel, like violet.  
  
she replied. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I'm a nurse Joy. Well, my mom always told me I was lucky to be the daughter of a Joy who wouldn't pressure me to be a pokemon nurse. And I am lucky. I do have an innate desire to nurse, but I don't have an innate desire to be one in a million, so here I am.  
  
Brock tensed up a little. No, I wasn't thinking that at all--  
  
she smiled, were you just wondering if my last name was Edena?  
  
Brock relaxed a little. That was exactly it.  
  
You had a right hunch, Amity smiled. Amity Edena, at your service. I hope I've lived up to my name.  
  
Brock brightened, definitely! You're very friendly--  
  
I meant my last name silly, she giggled, then brought him his tray. You know, she smiled, I haven't seen such a cute patient in a long time.  
  
Brock blushed profusely. Obviously the trainees weren't told why the patients were in the hospital, and her mom didn't tell her anything about his insanity.  
  
he stuttered, not knowing what else to say.  
  
Amity smiled again. You're welcome sweetie. Now--my mom is going to come see you later today. I'm going to be off work by then, do you want to go get a snack in the cafeteria when she's done?  
  
Brock was in total shock. He reeled as he stumbled for an answer, then reeled again after he said it because it was an incredibly stupid answer. I'm only 17--  
  
Amity suddenly began to blush. I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd think the two year difference was such a big deal.  
  
Brock's eyes widened, I don't! I thought you would.  
  
she shrugged. It wouldn't matter at all five years from now, would it?  
  
Brock agreed, begining to relax. Of course I'll go with you.  
  
It's a date, Amity winked.  
  
Brock wondered why in hell a beautiful woman like her would want him, and why in hell she was being so straightforward.  
  
The truth was, Violet had told Amity everything about Brock. Sure, she broke confidentiality, but she wasn't worried about it between family members. The problem was, instead of pity, Amity was intrigued by Brock. He was a man--she couldn't believe that any guy could be so--well--maternal. She decided that she would have to get to know him for herself.  
  
Brock, though normally he would have been in the clouds, was instead angry with himself for agreeing to something he positively didn't deserve. His heart raced when she'd called him cute, and his vision was spinning as she left him.  
  
He scolded himself over and over, but he still couldn't suppress the anxiousness he felt as he awaited the visit of Doctor Edena.   
  
Ash and Misty came before she came, and he was just as glad to see them. They stayed with him all day, only leaving to eat, and when Doctor Edena came to see him.  
  
Hello Brock, she said, sitting on the corner of the bed beside him. How are you feeling today?  
  
Brock felt that he'd appear like a calloused asshole if he said better,' after all that had happened, so he couldn't bring himself to respond at all.   
  
You don't want to tell me? she looked at him quizzically.  
  
I guess I'm--all right, Brock finally said.  
  
Violet nodded. Did you think about what I said?  
  
Brock squirmed a little, and sat up. He felt sort of naked in the thin hospital gown he was given, but he felt the need to edge away from the doctor.   
  
I did, he replied. And, you know, it would make me feel better to know that what I did wasn't an act of pure irresponsibility. But you see, I can't believe that. I thought I might be able to chase a dream, but you see, being able to follow my dream was not my destiny. Not everyone gets what they want, and I tried to cheat my destiny, and hurt the ones I love most doing it.  
  
Violet sighed and shook her head. You don't understand Brock. There's no such thing as destiny. You make your own luck. And furthermore, you shouldn't blame yourself. Sweetie, that accident could have happened even if it was you letting her spend the day with friends. Bad things _happen_, you can't avoid it. Don't beat yourself over it.  
  
They conversed in this manner for the good portion of an hour, and when Violet was glad that she at least got him to admit that he didn't deserve to die before she left. He would still take some work, however.  
  
Violet had been gone for a good five minutes before Amity burst through the door. She was in another Save Ferris shirt, and was wearing black bellbottoms, and the same red pair of Nikes. Brock almost found it odd to see a Joy dressed casually, but he knew that she was not a Her hair was still done in Joy fashion, and Brock thought it was very cute.  
  
You ready? she grinned.  
  
I have to get ready, Brock replied, and slid out of bed. He got his clothes out of a drawer by his bed, and walked into the bathroom, noticing the draft he felt as he walked, but not seriously thinking about it.  
  
_Nice butt_, Amity giggled to herself as she waited.  
  
Brock came back wearing an orange shirt, brown jeans, and a green vest. Amity didn't comment on his fashion sense, but she reminded herself that he never had a mother to dress him.  
  
They went to the cafeteria, an odd place for a date, but Brock wasn't supposed to leave. He was allowed to walk around since he didn't need an IV or have any other physical incapacitation, but he had to remain in the hospital.  
  
It feels so nice to walk around, he smiled.   
  
Amity shrugged. They went through the line and paid for their food, then sat at an empty table. Brock tried to insist on carrying it all, but nearly dropped everything because of the pain in his wrists. His eyes began to water a little as Amity grabbed it from him, but he held the tears back.  
  
It's all right, Amity delicately whispered. I can carry it while you're not well.  
  
Brock groaned as he sat back at the table, feeling that he ruined his chances with her already. He didn't eat. He picked at his macaroni and roast beef sandwich with his fork for a while, wondering what she was thinking. She seemed to be eating okay, but stopped when she noticed that he wasn't.  
  
What's wrong? she asked.  
  
he looked up at her. I can't lie to you. I-I'm not someone you probably want to be with. I'm the reason my little sister died, then I tried to commit suicide.  
  
Amity put down her fork, then looked at Brock sternly. Would you sue a psychiatrist for disclosing information to family?  
  
Brock boggled. You--you knew? And you still want to see me?  
  
I know, Amity grabbed his hand. And, I don't blame you. No one blames you. Please, I think you're a wonderful person, if what my mom said was true. Please Brock, listen to me. I can see your train of thought. I know why you blame yourself. But listen to people when they tell you it's not your fault! Listen to them!  
  
Brock's lips parted slightly as he sat, stunned. Amity let go of his hand and looked at him sternly, desire for a response present in her eyes.  
  
Brock began to shake, it's hard for me, she, she was almost my daughter. Well, so were all my siblings, but she never had anyone else but me growing up. So, it was a little different.  
  
Amity stood up and sat next to Brock on the bench. She put her arms around him and began to pat his back. It's okay, she assured. It's all right.  
  
You barely know me, Brock choked, why are you like this?  
  
Amity sighed. You know how it is, so easy to fall for any guy at first sight. But I even know how you are, from what my mom said. And I like it.  
  
Brock let a couple of tears fall onto Amity's neck, then he pulled away from her. Maybe having to stay here won't be so bad after all.  
  
You can't stay here, Amity smiled. You have a dream to pursue. Just, be sure and come see me whenever you're in town.  
  
I have to stay, Brock argued. To take care of Nina and Russel.  
  
Amity grabbed both of his hands. They're almost old enough to get out of the house, Brock. Don't lose what you have with your friends now.  
  
But they need me, Brock lowered his eyes.  
  
They do, Amity agreed. Visit often! I want to see you too.  
  
Brock kissed her hands, then stood up. I don't think it would be right for me to escape my responsibilities again.  
  
But they're not your responsibilities, Amity narrowed her eyes, becoming a little frustrated. They're your _father's_ responsibilities now, like they always should have been!  
  
Amity let go of Brock's hands, and he crossed them in front of him. He looked down at the ground for a while, and Amity breathed out her pang of anger.  
  
Brock stood up. Amity looked behind her and saw that Ash and Misty had come to the cafeteria while looking for Brock. Amity put her hands on Brock's shoulders.  
  
You're leaving tomorrow Brock, she closed her eyes, then kissed him on the cheek. Don't forget, you have to come visit me.  
  
I won't forget, Brock whispered back, touching his cheek where he had been kissed.   
  
Brock realized that he didn't really get much eating done, but it didn't matter. When in search for one's purpose, food seems to take a step back in the priority list.  
  
---------------------------------  
Brock had actually felt better after a few days at Ash's mother's house. They were packed to begin journeying again, being the nomads they were. But something was still bothering him.  
  
he began, as they were all about to go to bed. Do you--still have the pokeball with Qwilfish in it?  
  
Ash nodded reluctantly. I kept it in case you wanted to give it a burial, or keep the pokeball.  
  
May I have it? Brock asked.  
  
Of course, Ash nodded, then went into his room to get it. Luckily it couldn't be smelled through the pokeball.  
  
Thank you, Brock said as he took it. It felt strange in his hand, as if it were Leora's ghost. It seemed weighted with pain, and he walked out of the house with it quickly.  
  
The stars shone brightly through the crisp air of Pallet Town. Brock's steps were labored as he walked through the grass to reach the edge of the water where, if traversed, Johto lie across it. The wind tousled his hair as he stood at the edge, and he took his shoes and socks off.   
  
The grass felt heavenly between his toes, and they chilled terribly as he stuck them in the water. He leaned his head back and breathed deeply, the water rushing up to his ankles as it was guided by the wind. The moon was beautiful, a strangely bright crescent that night. He held the ball up in front of him, and it looked peaceful in front of a backdrop of lapping waves and touching black sky.   
  
He brought the ball close to his face, and kissed it softly.   
  
I'll miss you, Leora, he whispered, and once again looked out to the water.   
  
A couple of tears fell from his eyes as he pulled his arm back and threw the ball with all of his strength. It was a fitting casket for the creature, and the water a fitting burial ground. He stepped out of the water and grabbed his shoes.  
  
A hand suddenly made its way onto his shoulder, and he turned around, only to see Ash with a compassionate look in his eyes.  
  
You ready to go tomorrow? he asked.  
  
Brock shook, wiping the tears from his face. I'm ready.  
  
  
  
A'ight. This is my last depressing one. I have two in the works, and BOTH of them are happier than this, so it's assured. Unless I get sudden inspiration, which at this point I doubt. Tell me what you thought! 


End file.
